


Alpha

by lux_permanet



Category: Den of Thieves (2018)
Genre: Angst, F/M, and a journey into the enigma of merrimen, for good measure, with a hint of porn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-01 23:38:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15784494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lux_permanet/pseuds/lux_permanet
Summary: Know your enemy. Know your friend. Know your desires.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> From hot yoga to the Alpha's rage.

Creatures of habit, that’s what we are. There’s always an internal struggle to change for better or for worse, it all depends on the right motivation. “Right” however, is not a universal definition. It’s relative. Our needs and aspirations are nothing but a black hole, sucking us deeper inside. We’re insatiable. Self-control is just an alternative way to cater more of what we want without being distracted by random desires. Some call it selfishness, I like to call it self-fulfillment. Getting a taste of what you crave is nice but that’s not going to bring you any peace, no. It will add more gas to the fire. In the end, we either get consumed by the flames or the lack of them.

I keep my focus on the lungs, exhaling slowly and deliberately, visualizing the breath crashing against his neck in that primal urge to provoke the ultimate bloodthirst. That’s the thrill. Knowing he could tear me to shreds if he wanted to, but he’s not an animal.

Sunday mornings are for pondering and creative visualization. Even if I need to sink my teeth into my lips to muffle the inappropriate sounds. The music sinks deep into my brain and invites my imagination to a journey beyond insensible limits, vibrating through every atom of my body ever so softly as the muscles keep screaming for release. Who would’ve thought balancing on that thin line between pleasure and pain could be so liberating? Every drop of sweat brings me closer to a thought I’m desperately trying to push away and ignore, knowing very well it would force me to overwrite my code of decency, something I always thought was written in stone.

Someone crashes against the door in the back of the room for a solid three times before reading the short but efficient instruction written across it and finally pulls instead of pushing. I take a deep breath in, feeling the collective energy shift a little by the unexpected intrusion. Time is not much of a factor, but if nothing else, common sense should kick in before rudely interrupting the class while we’re clearly nine positions deep into the regular seance. My eyes shift to the instructor, the pure horror as it’s spreading on her face and I can’t help but wonder if we’re hallucinating the same thing.

The intruder flutters his fingers at me before rolling out a neon green mat right next to mine, casually throwing down a Sheriff’s badge, a pair of cuffs, a wallet and a gun on top to help it flatten out while accurately placing a half-empty Starbuck’s cup on the ground within hand’s reach. He’s tilting his head to the right in order to capture my look as we’re staring at each other.

“Namaste. Nick.”

“Good for you.”

He winks at me with an irrationally smug grin, nodding with a sense of approval while his eyes are having a full on breakfast on me. It’s hard to decide whether he’s indeed this much of an unabashed jerk or this right here is the demonstration of his most sophisticated tactic to provoke something out of me, either way, he’ll need more effort to witness me giving a quarter of a fuck. I switch position and aggressively ignore the unnerving fact that any cop that willingly crashes a hot yoga class at 7.30 AM in a weekend has probably got at least one screwed up theory made up in his head in which he wants to fit me to.

My forehead barely touches its intended place on my right knee when he starts stripping and I refuse to believe my eyes. He kicks his boots off in random directions before dropping the leather jacket onto the floor. If the sound of metal details hitting the hardwood floor wouldn’t sound invidious enough, at least three dollars worth of small change explode from every pocket imaginable. He’s fully and thoroughly immune to my death stare and the heads that keep on turning into our direction. With the soft music still playing in the background, the duality of the situation feels like an alternate reality from a nightmare. I take pride in being patient with idiots but he’s pushing my limits, aggressively enforcing me to give up on the current asana and straighten up just to witness the guy throw his shirt away above his shoulder with only mild irritation.

“What the fuck is this? A prolusion for hell?” He’s crossing every line there is to cross, stomping around in my little zen garden with two feet. The whole room feels heavy with his musky cologne which might even be pleasant if it wouldn’t have the headnotes of an ashtray and we wouldn’t be locked up in 105 degrees with a lovely humidity percentage of forty.

“Google Bikram yoga, you’ll be surprised.” As the perfect punctuation mark to my recent suggestion, someone loses their balance in the front row and falls onto their side with a loud thump. I take a deep breath for calming purposes but regret it immediately when the obnoxious odor of boiled whiskey makes my stomach turn. “You have coffee in your booze?”

“No coffee, it’s not good for my blood pressure.” There’s no way my brain can handle this level of crazy, someone tell me where do I apply a request for a timeout. The upcoming corpse pose makes sure we all get a little nap to try and deal with this literal hot mess. He lays down on the neon green mat next to me, noticeably thrilled with the recognition of his own innate talent for the position. “Shit, I’m good at this.” His chi is flowing like a sewer.

“Is this typical of you?” I turn my head to see him drop a cigarette into the corner of his mouth but leaves it unlighted. I could swear his eyeballs are sweating.

“Popping up at random places without having a fucking clue?”

“Precisely.”

“Very. It has my name written all over it.”

“Which is Namaste Nick.”

“Just Nick.”

“Okay, Just Nick.” He smirks, swimming in his own liquids, probably ready to die. In a way, the enthusiasm is weirdly admirable.

Someone once said to me that if I’m going to self-destruct, I may as well give it all I have.  Nick seems to be the perfect embodiment of that. The unsettling problem about people like him is that they’re unpredictable. They operate by their own codes. They don’t conform, they force the world to accommodate.

“I always wondered what art dealers do. Aside from this utter nonsense.”

Am I surprised? No. Does this little fact help to ease the icy grip on my spine? Certainly not. It’s not that I don’t know what he came here for, it’s that I want to hear it from his mouth. I want to be sure that after all this time, the first and only cop that ever had the urge to openly corner me is this idiot. I want to feel the crushing weight of not giving a fuck about his hypothesis of my life. I want him to tell me about the stories he heard and the files he read and the conclusion he made. “The name ‘art dealer’ is quite self-explaining. They deal with art.” He nods, taking the cigarette out from between his lips before throwing it away.

“I wonder what an art dealer who deals with art does with a bunch of ex-military, ex-con dudes. Are they upgrading the living room? What do they like? Neoclassicism?”

“If you name two more art periods my whole impression of you will be irrevocably transformed.” I put an extensive amount of effort into sounding as casual as the red fog lets me. The alarm goes off in my head but I’m busy swallowing the bitter pill he just spoonfed me with.

“What about Ray Merrimen?” There we are, the main course. We had quite a warm-up but now he’s comfortable enough to presume who has entrance into my neoclassical panties.

“You came here for Ray Merrimen? Wrong class. He prefers pilates.”

 

* * *

 

The road is ours exclusively, Ray’s slow-burning rage must have wiped out the suburbs and put the fear of God into the whole neighborhood. He gives the most thorough silent treatment humanly possible. He’s the master of it, though the quiet speaks volumes between the three of us and I wholeheartedly despise every second of it. His eyes meet mine in the rearview every now and then in the resting intervals of disgruntled looks towards Donnie.  Calling tonight a disaster would be an extreme understatement but this time I’m refusing to feel bad about anyone else but myself. Sometimes I’m liberal and sometimes I feel like slapping some sense into a bitch with a barstool. Unfortunately, not even five rounds of vodka soda turned out to be sufficient for dissolving the lump in my throat, so I keep on choking on my morals.

We’re taking the last right turn before reaching the garage and the door closes as soon as the SUV rolls in without a sound. I’ve never seen a less impressed assembly but they are not my concern, Donnie will have to deal with that. My concern revolves solely around one of them and he’s currently staring into the depth of my very soul via the mirror while turning the engine off. I know exactly why I’m mad and it has nothing to do with Nick but everything to do with Merrimen. He looks somewhat amused while turning to Donnie, unnervingly prolonging the silence before spitting out the most casual question nobody wanted to hear.

“Are you a cop?”

“No. Are you?” How did he pick the worst answer from a sea of endless possibilities is a mystery. I don’t know what to think about his encounter, I can only take the absurdity of my own as a foundation and believe that he’s telling the truth. Yet the bottom line is, it’s not me he needs to convince.

Ray signals with a nod and the passenger door flings open. “Get out of the car.” Donnie has one option and he lives with it, wisely but not happily. I know the call isn’t mine but it doesn’t mean he can prevent me from doing whatever I want. Enson mutely disapproves from the distance, leaning against the side of my car he so nobly drove all the way here while I was sitting in timeout with daddy. I flutter my lashes to let him know I can’t be bothered as I turn around to see Ray ascending from the SUV like an inevitable threat, the eventual fury that’s about to be unleashed upon us.

They don’t let me walk any further. A firm but non-forceful grip makes sure I’m not crossing any more lines. Ray gives me a glance on his death stroll as a wordless promise that he’ll get back to me and my disobedience. I’m stunned. He must be mistaking me with someone else in which case I’ll make sure we go over the roles once again to clear up the misunderstanding that there’s no such narrative where I’m his whore.

Donnie falls to the ground, a thin stream of blood running across his face, all the way down his neck. I forget to exhale, the scene seems way too surreal to be true. He’s not wired, that’s not even a question. That’s a simple excuse to make a point about the thin ice he’s balancing on from now on. Not being trusted is the real burden. It makes you question everything from everyone so the inner motivation to prove yourself enhances with the speed of light. And so he talks in hopes that it shall be enough in exchange for the trust to be restored. But trust is a delicate thing, it never really heals completely.

Donnie might get out but the evening is far from being done yet with me being the next course on Ray’s meal plan. He eyes me intensely, nostrils flare, I could swear fume’s coming out of them. I push myself away from the grasp I’ve been locked into, the sound of my heels echoing from the walls when I make my way back to the main area, signaling to the big, bad alpha with my fingers to follow me out.

“You want to search me too? Come on, search me.” I throw my jacket on the hood of the SUV with a wide move, ready for a body scan. He reaches me with two gigantic steps, rudely disregarding the concept of personal space and stabs his stare into mine. “How many years, Ray? Ten? Twelve? You dare fucking question my loyalty?”

“You know him from the gym as well?” I can’t believe my senses but I’ve known him too well for too long to ignore the severity of his tone. He keeps his voice low because we’re both used to rampage in a sophisticated way but under his skin, there’s hellfire. I’m not used to be the target of his temper, I’m used to be the voice of reason. I’m not being called Fossey for nothing.

“I know him from hot yoga.” I catch the muscle in his jaw clench as the information sinks deeper in but I won’t let him pressure me into explaining myself so I’ll leave the rest of it to his imagination. I swallow, the sour mixture consists of mostly pride and disappointment with a handful of tears I won’t ever admit to anyone. Not even for myself. “I’ll go home, stare at my Renoir with a glass of champagne, thinking about beating the sass out of you. Get out of my way.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taste your dreams.

Problems are for solving. As simple as it sounds the main percentage of the population fails right at the perception of this. Why? Because we’re missing the whole point by taking everything so damn personally. If you can’t handle it, find someone who can. The ones on top of the food chain are those who admit to their limits and don’t fall under the false coercion of their egos telling them they’re polyhistors. Money is the ultimate ego booster, that’s the ancient truth but contrary to popular belief, no amount of wealth can save idiocy. We’re thriving at some things and suck at others, the real power, however, is to have the clarity to accept that and still go for a solution. That’s what I am, I’m the solution for certain difficulties. At one point in time, he was the solution for my difficulty. Now he’s nothing but another issue I’m forced to deal with. An irreversible condition that gets worse with every passing minute while I’m aggressively resisting to see that the limit I’ve set is hypocritical and the only way out of this is through.

I should’ve known better. Some problems are peaceful. You can leave them alone, they grow in the dark nice and good all by themselves while you’re living your favorite lie and ignore the monster you’re creating. Some problems are severely intractable. They nag you with their unlimited perseverance and claim your full and undivided attention whether you’re giving it freely or they have to take it by force. They park their cars diagonally across your driveway and rudely deliver themselves to your doorstep in the middle of the night just to engage in a staring competition through the closed door. I should have known better than to think he’ll move on from our latest encounter without further consequences. We’re not done yet.

Ray’s great at a lot of things, like being deeply unimpressed all the time. I’m applauding the nerve he has to pull up uninvited and still make it look like he was dragged through hell to get here. In return, I choose the shortest way to dry hump what’s left of his last nerve and turn my back on the man to get the message through.

“Please, come in. Can I offer you something? A glass of water? A beer? A protein shake maybe? My soul?” I don’t have to look back at him to tell it’s a success, the sound of him inhaling sharply supply me with all the essential information.

I cut him off with a stealthy hand gesture before he would get in part two of our neglected argument. It might be 2:43 in the morning but what keeps me up fresh and peachy at this outrageously inappropriate time is not my undying hunger for another fight with Ray Merrimen. I reach the counter with long steps to find the notification light flashing on my phone. Finally. The message consists of two letters only, ‘OK’. Now we can celebrate. I grab my glass with the remaining of blush colored rose wine and raise it to Ray. His features soften for a second before remembering that I’m a traitor until it’s proven otherwise.

“Picasso.”

“You don’t like Picasso.” This is the exact type of wholehearted support I’m assigned to receive from him until we settle the situation. I cock my head to the side, staring at him with awe. He’s a walking, talking, displeased piece of fine art, made to be pinned up against the wall. He’s not entirely wrong, though. In fact, one of his greatest flaws has to be that he knows me all too well.

“So? It won’t be hanging above my bed. Cubism might not be my favorite but I do appreciate the early years and then there’s this unexplainable love I have for his name. It feels good on the tongue, rolls beautifully. Do you know what Pablo means?”

He takes over a bar stool in front of me on the other side of the counter and does what he do best: says nothing.  The king of silence. That’s where the real power lies, speaking less and still saying more. His quiets are never empty, they’re more like reverse conversations where you wish he’d spit those words into your face however heavy they might be instead of projecting them right into your brain, leaving you with the mortifying possibility to make them sound even worse in your head. I stand his gaze, we both know I won’t back out. I can’t back out. I’ve used up all my patience and ran out of hiding places. There’s nowhere to go. I’ve tried and practiced his method for years and the only thing it did was making me more vulnerable than I’ve ever thought I could be. If you swallow every word, they’ll eat you up inside. They’ll get into your system and find themselves a whole new meaning, spreading and multiplying, blooming like flowers on a hillside. They’ll grow. They’ll take over. They’ll make you suffer. I wonder what his hillside looks like, the one where he buries all the things he should be saying instead.

My stomach sinks with an unfamiliar, obscure feeling. It makes my skin crawl and heartbeats raise. He’s within hand’s reach yet I’ve never felt so distant. This is what happens when you build a castle on lies, you need to accept the probability that you will watch it crumble down from the front row. We should have picked the easy route and cut this short. We should’ve fucked when we first met, right there on top of my desk, getting it out of the way while the option to move on was still accessible. It’s too late now. The greed has grown into a roaring beast with an insatiable hunger, and the leash forced around its neck exists purely to provoke it even further. Him and I, we kept on building this bridge just to burn it to the ground and it’s tearing me apart inside.

Ray doesn’t expect me to prolong the distance so abruptly but it comes as an instinctive form of self-defense. A hasty defiance to take the control back and fight my way out of that magnetic field that consumes my right mind whenever he’s around. I know, Ray Merrimen is officially in charge of everything, he puts Mercury in and out of retrograde, depending on his mood on any given day. But he’s not in charge of me. Never was, never will be.

“Why are you running away?”

I lean forward with disbelief while the blood slowly turns into lava in my veins. “Why am I running away? Fuck you.” I put an immense amount of effort into articulating the last two words as clearly as possible to make sure he gets the point.

Two things in life I’ve learned very early on. One, just because my mother raised me to be a lady it’s better to go the extra mile and terrify people a bit otherwise they get the wrong impression that I can be jerked around. It’s not about a demonstrative machete hanging from a belt. A straight back, a pencil skirt and a pair of heels for any occasion seem threatening enough to reflect the authority. And two, never trust a man with a dick. Now I’m standing barefoot in my kitchen, facing someone I’ve trusted with each of my secrets, and may he be a truly exceptional specimen of his breed, he still does have a dick. When you break your own rules and find out it’s for nothing, that’s the real defeat.

Ray keeps his focus on me, scanning every micro movement but I’m not giving him a chance to see me bat an eyelash while he gets on his feet in slow motion. If he’s here for a showdown I won’t let him go home disappointed, even if this is the last time we meet. The thought makes my insides turn and my knees weak. Reward and punishment, they’re not so different from each other and life has wicked ways to teach us about our worth. What’s a curse today might be a blessing tomorrow, a cheap cliche from the mouth of the defeated.

“Speak up, Ray, I’m listening. Let’s see if you can tell me something I don’t know already.” Even I’m surprised about my own composedness. He sticks to the usual method and makes himself at home in my personal space.

“No.”

“No? That’s it? Fine, don’t make it easy if you can make it hard. After all, that’s your main profile.”

He closes the space between us, shoulders stiff, taking a heavy breath in. “I can’t say goodbye.” Maybe if he wouldn’t sound so soft, it wouldn’t hit me so hard but despite my greatest endeavor, I’m standing to lose. My forehead rests on his shoulder and I’m helpless, howling with rage on the inside like an animal.

“Then don’t. Just give me a minute.”

A minute. Sweet. The concept of time and how we waste it, mindlessly letting it flow out of our hands like sand because we think we have forever. We don’t. Perhaps if instead of seconds or days the measurement of time would be the chances we don’t take, life could have a fairly different taste. I wonder how late is too late, guess we’ll find it out soon enough. My back arches as soon as his fingertips brush against my back. He stops midway for a millisecond to check the reaction and act accordingly. It’s inciting enough to have his palms run up to the nape of my neck, stroking it lightly. His technique is debatable, it’s like trying to extinguish a gas explosion with a flamethrower.

“I don’t want to say goodbye.” Ray tugs at my chin gently. He’s restraining the pressure but the urge is still present in his touch. I submit to the wordless command, tilting my head back to meet his eyes. “Come with me.” It takes five full seconds to digest the words that have just fallen out of his mouth and I’m finally starting to understand why developing the capability to exist without him is a critical necessity. Our lives go side by side on two parallel lines, giving the wrong illusion that it’s the same path but it’s not. However close they might be, they will never unite, running into infinity like that.

A mild but firm move, that’s how I push him away as far as my arms let me. His pupils are dilated, two dark ponds ready to absorb my whole existence.

“Don’t do this. Don’t do this to me, Ray. Stop giving me orders and give me reasons instead. Or don’t. You either include me or don’t include me, but being stuck in between is a fucking nightmare. I know you assume I’m a mind reader but here is the cold truth, I’m not. You don’t have to say a word, your actions are doing all the talking for you.” I catch the muscle in his jaw twitch, his whole posture tenses up. He’s a beast, a ticking time bomb, a predator with a meal plan. You don’t tame people like him. You can’t ruin them with a leash. You can only let them be, even if it ruins you instead.

He’s a creature of habit. I’ve been watching him for too long to unsee the disturbing conclusion that he’s risking all for the sake of feeling alive. It’s not the money. It’s the thrill of doing the undoable and having a sense of satisfaction thicken the blood-rush in his veins. A momentary contentment that’s taking the attention away from the real problem. Humans are strange, we can get used to everything on the scale from the most superfluous luxuries to the most distressing monstrosities, and from that moment on we’re apathetic to its very presence. He’s been unhappy for so long that he made peace with the emptiness and filled the void with nonchalance.

“What’s the final conclusion?”

“I don’t need you or any one of your million issues.” He tears me to shreds and puts me right back together with the intensity of his stare. “The final conclusion is that I don’t need you. But I  _want_  you.” I’m not moving, he has me in his grip to either make me or break me.

“Have me.” I keep an eye on every move he makes, the proximity makes my skin ache. His fingers snake around my elbows, pulling me closer until we collide. The softness of the kiss on my forehead makes me moan into his neck. He whispers against my lips. “ _Have me_.”

Maybe it’s because we were starving for so long, the hunger dissolves self-control. It’s devouring. I try to ease the thirst from his tongue but it doesn’t work. I only want more and he’s more than willing to give it to me. He doesn’t leave a single inch of skin untouched, driving my senses insane with the alternation of rough and gentle. A yearning, needy mess, that’s what we’ve made. Some times are for love and other times are for fucking like animals and judging by the look on his face, love will have to wait. His body pushes into mine, lips moving deeper against my flesh, desperately demanding for more, ready to eat me alive.

He lifts me up, scans around for a surface to his liking and transfers me to the couch. We exchange looks, just like we always do except that this time we’re not only fantasizing about feasting on each other, dinner is actually served. Ray unzips the skirt and strokes it down my legs, grabbing firmly on my ass on his way back up. The idea of patience is unknown, I need to feel him and I need to feel him now, having his bare skin on mine. I lift the shirt above his head with a stiff move and throw it to the ground. My fingers trace the letters across his chest and I lean forward to kiss each of them but can’t get to the last one. He pushes me down onto the cushions and kneels between my legs. The sight I’ve envisioned a million times. I could stare at it forever but my eyes shut and my head drops back immediately as his thumb brushes against me through the fabric of my panties. He hisses with fervor by the perception of his effect on me.

“What do we do now?” There’s a wicked sparkle gleaming in his eyes while toying with me audaciously, his hands are persistent, they’re busy unbuttoning my blouse and mapping those territories he hasn’t got to touch yet, trailing his very own path with the tip of his tongue from my lower abdomen all the way up to my chin, his teeth sink into my lips.

“I don’t know, there’s a deck of UNO cards somewhere in the attic, go and get it, I’ll just fuck myself real quick if you don’t mind.” I suck on his tongue in return, drag my nails along his back. He grinds against me, mercilessly. The friction between the massive bulge of his jeans and that small piece of lace leaves me out of breath.

I wrap my legs around his neck in ecstasy, whimper helplessly by the sensation of his lips on my inner thighs, one after the other. Of course, he has to be a teaser and push every button until my atonement for the cop is considered sufficient enough. I should have shot him in the balls when I had the chance. What kind of a lunatic would believe the story of our disastrous hot yoga class when even I can barely process it myself. On the other hand, it seems just fair to send him something to pour into his favorite Starbuck’s cup as a thank you gift for the service he did to aid the exquisite view between my thighs.

The look Ray gives me between licks and nibbles is a pure and undiluted provocation. I’d take the opportunity to complain about the lack of fair-play but I’m short of capacity to tie cohesive sentences together. Intimacy is an elemental need. It’s coded into our systems, it’s a fundamental part of life, a way of self-expression where words don’t bear with a meaning anymore. You can’t fake it, you can’t replicate the idea without content. It’s either there or not. Every breath is another confession and it all makes sense, it puts your world in order and your mind at ease. Life is full of pleasure and beauty but there’s absolutely nothing like that earth-shattering, frantic wave of pleasure by the first lap on the clit, the one that leaves my back arched and my legs shaking. He’s not eating me out, he makes out with my pussy like it’s my mouth; slowly and deliberately, pushing the limits of what I can handle to the very end just to stop right before the finish line. I pull him up to get a sample of my own taste from his lips and it’s divine.

“Turn around.” The hoarseness of his voice is music to my ears. I touch the lashes of his closed eyes to catch him shiver softly by the revelation of tenderness. His fingers rake through my hair, smoothing it out of my face, pulling my head back for an easy access to my neck.

What I want is everything and I want it all at once. The sound of his belt unbuckling makes me groan like an animal and I force myself to push him away, get on my knees and lean against the back of the sofa with aching muscles. I can’t do it anymore. He puts my body to the test but we’re so close to the breaking point, I have to feel him inside of me before the world explodes. We moan in sync by the long-awaited contact as our bodies meet, graze against one another. His chest on my back, his arms beside mine, our fingers entwined. I’m more than ready for him, dripping with anticipation when rubbing his cock between my folds before plunging all the way into me with a single move. It’s electric. He bites on my shoulder to smother the sound but I can still hear his gasp in my ear and it turns me on even further. We’re motionless, mouths gaping, every nerve relishing in the sweet pain. Every inch of me is taken, I need a moment to adjust.

“Fuck, you’re like home.” He pulls out completely, leaving me trembling for more but this time he’s not making me wait. The words still echo in my brain, making my heart cum before the rest of me could join in. I take him in, as deep as he can go, my hips follow the steady pace of his thrusts. We don’t have time for the build-up, we’re way past that. The thirst is unbearable, it’s inhuman, carnal. I can feel the endgame, it’s already pulsing in the distance, getting closer with every push. Ray delivers me there, carrying me to the climax on his eager, voracious hands. He’s drawing little circles on my clit, hitting just the right spot with his shaft over and over again until the tension takes over and I’m helpless, unable to control my muscles while he still gives it to me. “That’s it, ride it out, baby. Let me feel you.” I’m clinging to his arms for support in the final moment before a lightning hits my spine and the heat of rapture starts spreading in me, seeping into my veins. He’s a prisoner, my body’s keeping him captive, encircled by my walls as they’re convulsing around him.

I feel him shuddering lightly, the grip tightening around my waist, fingers dig deeper and harder into my skin. It’s his turn to go but I disrupt the ultimate fulfillment on purpose, darting away before he’d get to the point of no return. His low grunt leaves no doubt about his profound disappointment but I have a vision to fulfill and a well-planned redemption in exchange for the denied gratification.

“Sit down, Ray.” He does exactly as I say and now the roles have changed, I’m the one kneeling on the ground, looking up at him with wide eyes. It’s been a cherished fantasy of mine and here we are, implementing dreams into reality. He groans in disbelief, carefully observing every move. My fingers run along his cock before gripping it firmly at the base, caressing it with my tongue. I give him a covetous look before taking him into my mouth, slowly letting him deeper, moving with a solid motion, sucking on it when I get back to the top. Up and down, worshipping his dick the way it deserves to be. He’s throbbing under the touch when the release finally arrives, his whole body tenses up and I take him as deep as I can for one last time before feeling him on my tongue. The low groan makes me moan around his cock and the resonance is just an extra addition to his pleasure. I revel in his taste, every drop is mine to take and I devour it like in my wildest fantasies.

He reaches down for me and I accept the hand, climbing up into his lap to be pulled into a kiss. Our bodies glimmer in the morning light and I bury my face into the curve of his neck, inhaling the scent of love from his skin. His arms lock around me in an infinite embrace, we’re listening to each other panting. The world is not my concern. He is, and the things I’d do for him terrify me.

“What does Pablo mean?” His voice is low and husky, sending a shiver down my spine. I move to face him and voluntarily get lost in his eyes. My hands cradle his face on each side, studying his features.

“Little. It means little.”


End file.
